This poem is a lament about the amount of plastic we consume in our modern lives as Westerners, and where it all goes. My particular beef is with unnecessary and annoying packaging on children’s toys. But plastic is everywhere. May we all learn to be more mindful of our impact on the planet, before it’s too late.
For those who don’t know, shellac is a varnish. To “give someone a shellacking” is to beat them soundly or decisively, for example, in an election. “Going under” can mean to sink in a body of water, or to become bankrupt. Morally, for example.
Thanks for coming by to read.
Plastic is our hero.
Plastic is our poison.
Its power is elastic, spastic.
Bags for putting toys in.
Wrapping, bottles, jars and lids,
Packaging and sponges,
Adding layers, to all that is,
Plastic pebble dungeons.
Floating near an island,
Seafoam carries rings,
And gifts of grocery bags, galore:
Like jellyfish, with stings.
Bobbing trash, the size of isles.
The swirling churn degenerates.
We ship our weekly trash, offshore,
Our Sin, we make it incarnate.
What harm, from seeking to preserve
Our food, preventing spoil and plunder?
All our children’s Christmas toys,
Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew
For a poem on the process our planet is undergoing, read Green Land.
For a poem on the irresponsibility of leaders in times of great need or crisis, read On Pharoah’s Watch.